


Moments in Time: Pieces of Glass

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: Drama, Established Relationship, Futurefic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-10-12
Updated: 2002-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-01 05:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/352350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The different effects of glass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moments in Time: Pieces of Glass

## Moments in Time: Pieces of Glass

by cheddarandonion

<http://traitorsgate.diaryland.com>

* * *

Red light streamed onto his face,mottling blood-like stains over his boddy. He never did pay attention to the light in that room before. He had observed it crawl up Lionel's body, attempting to engulf the expanse of skin and fabric-covered skin. 

He stood alone in the middle of the room, memories, still fresh, fought for his attention. 

Shadows of Lionel, Pamela, his mother and Clark danced in his mind. Clark had asked him, asked after the people he ever loved. He remembered keenly how the air felt against his nose and lungs, the grooves and contours of the barn, the lumps in the seat under him, the look on Clark's face. 

He told Clark a white lie, neither right nor wrong, he came out grey-hued. 

-Medio tutissimus ibis- Ovid taught him in his dreams, showed him the restless spirit of Phaeton, falling like a ball of fire towards the earth. _You will go most safely in the middle_

He had feelings for Clark, though he's afraid to make it known. He loathed to lose a friendship like Clark's. He stood there in the middle of the room, plush rug dragging him downwards, red light from stained glass marked him. The sun slowly touched his neck. 

... 

Water glittered under the intense gaze of white neon lights, the crystal glass distorting carbon fizzes, racing to the edge of the open air. Droplets of condensation formed, marking the glass. 

They made his palm cold and wet, the sensation chased one another, coarsing through his burning palm. He grasped the sides of clear glass with both his hands, his body slightly hunched forward, his elbows on his knees. Undignified and weak, his father would comment. His forehead burnt, his heart marched erratically, he lifted his glass slowly, connecting it to his forehead. 

Cold against warm, he hissed. Gradually, he rolled it across, soothing his burning nerve ends, brought him back to cold reality. 

He remembered the time when he first beheld the sight of a pitiful place called Smallville, half expecting tumbleweeds to roll around and run through him like cold blade. Then things began to change, in a slow place, befit of an idyllic place wrought by meteors, mutants, lies as well as smiles and openness. 

The glass in his hand turned lukewarm. He heard feet scraping in front of the door. He lifted himself off the floor and set the glass on the side table, droplets rushed towards brown wood and he saw Clark walking in. 

-Tu ne cede malis, sed contra audentior ito- He banished his ghosts, placed them in their fragile prisons, walked bravely towards one uncertain point in his life, his smile never faltering. _yield not to adversity, but press on more bravely_

... 

His spectacles did him no justice, Lex mused. Hiding him from the blind world where everything and everyone seemed to be looking elsewhere. Was he the only one to notice? 

LEx had walked away from Smallville, heart heavy and grief strong. Yet the voices in his head, the circumstances and the spirits in the air beckoned him. He wanted to protech Clark and the town he had grown to like. But most of all he wanted to protect himself. 

The eyes behind the glasses pierced him, accusations, questions and begging for forgiveness. The eyes of the superhero pierced even more deeply. Clark thought he could hide Superman behind those geeky glasses of his, but he was wrong. Other people would have been fooled, but Lex was no other people. 

He once thought that walking away would spare him from future pains, for it would seem that the people he cared and loved didn't wait for him. Once too often he found himself standing alone, left picking up pieces of his heart, crimson red particles. 

He avoided Clark because he feared Clark would leave him, insecurities gnawed at him, shadows fast on his heels. But he found out too late that he'd ran headlong into this chasm. Losing this friendhsip he had with Clark would probably kill him, that he would die trying to mend it however way he could. 

-Indicit in Scyllam, cupiens vitare Charybdis- He read the stories of sailors, in their ancient boats sailing across the blue-green waves of the mythical sea. In the attempt of avoiding the sea-serpent, Scylla, they ran headlong, blindly towards the waiting gulf of Charybdis, thus perished without a trace or news. 

Clark would never leave him, he mused, understanding a little bit too late. Either love or hate, their destinies coiled around each other. He only wished he was at the other side. 

He saw his reflection cast upon the twin glasses of Clark's spectacles. For once he felt tired, of running, hiding and fervent denial. 

... 

His mother once gave him a glass figurine, multi-faceted and cast rainbows in white afternoon light. It had been handed down through her side of the family, fragile yet hardy against the test of time. It now stood on the dresser where the first rays of sun would easily find it. 

He was alone in his bed, the alarm clock lying silent in his hands. Another day, another scramble. The stack of files lying on his side of the bedside table reminded him of it. There were days when things and events drove him crazy. 

There were days when he would fight, shed tears and perspiration. -Hoc opus, his labor est- _that is the toil, the difficulty_

He heard the door opened and he was rushing back to the past. Where everything would be simpler yet not boring, easy yet deliciously complicated. Transported to the days when he felt at peace, loved and be loved, when he would laugh and think of happy thoughts. He climbed out of his bed and reached for the figurine, held it against the light, watched the multitude of colors danced in the room. 

The footsteps neared and stopped a feet away from him. 

"Stop reciting Latin in my head," he said, not lifting his eyes from the figurine. 

-Those were the only four I knew- 

Their destinies, his and Clark, were bound long before they even realized. Fate dictated their unbound steps. Twisting and coiling, there was no way to leave, no where else to go, except home. And thank God for that. 

**-FIN-**

Note:  
Just like all my other fics (except noted otherwise), this story isn't beta-ed. So if you find yourself cursing to the four corners of the wind: I'm sorry. If anyone wanted to lend a hand... that'll be great! 


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